Prices
by Vanr
Summary: ONESHOT- about the family of the little girl possessed by Lilith. When they come upstairs after the screaming stops, they are confused and more than a little scared when they come up to check on their strange guests to find one of them lying dead on their floor. Set around five minutes after the season three finale. No slash.


**A/N: First story on this account! WHOOOO! **

**I guess I really don't have much to say, other than this was just a little idea that occurred to me while I was rewatching Season 3. Because it can't be too normal, walking in on a dead Dean Winchester in your living room. This is also assuming that the family didn't die in Lilith's giant explosion. Maybe they did, but I get to to use a little something called 'creative freedom.'**

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The mother and father huddle in the corner, the mother hugging her scared and weeping child close to her chest. They sit, trembling, touching each other and finding solace in the fact that the strange thing possessing their daughter is gone. Their daughter, Jamie, shakes in her mother's grasp, but Jamie isn't going to move away from her, and her mother is grateful. It's been too damn long since her daughter has been her daughter.

"Mommy…" Jamie whimpered, inching closer and closing her eyes.

"It's okay, honey," her mother whispered, lifting one hand and running it down her daughter's smooth blonde hair. "It's okay."

She looks up, meeting her husband's eyes. Ryan's face looks scared but determined, and there is relief, too, because he has his daughter back. He shoots her a nervous smile, which she returns tremulously. "Ryan," she says, softly, mostly just to feel the familiar and comforting name on her tongue.

"Abby," he responds, with just as much emotion. They scoot closer together, fingers touching and palms pressed together. Jamie looks up, and meets her father's gaze, still curled close to her mother's side.

The three of them sit, not thinking about the horrors they've been through or Ryan's dad, dead at the kitchen table. They sit, together, staring at each other and at the light at the end of the tunnel, hoping and praying for a way out.

Their hopes are actually rising when they hear the screaming. It sounds vaguely familiar, but neither of the two adults know who it is. They decide not to care, though, when Jamie whimpers in fear. The screaming gets louder, more desperate, and much more throaty. They can hear muffled shouting, too, but it's not the screaming guy. It's higher pitched, and just as scared as the other one.

The family scoots closer together, and hope for the sake of the two men that came to save them that nothings gone wrong.

After what feels like forever, the screaming stops. The shouting stops, too. The whole house seems to go completely still. Jamie lets out a sob and buries her face in her mom's side. "Shhhh, baby, you'll be okay," Abby promises, hoping that the same can be said for the two men upstairs.

Ryan shifts away from them slightly, looking at his wife and daughter with wide, determined eyes. "I'm gonna go up there," he says, voice tight.

"No, Ryan-"

"I need to," he begs, "I need to see if it's safe for you and Jamie."

Abby can see the sense in that. But she's been terrified out of her mind for the last few days, and there is no way she's going to let Ryan out of her sight right now. "You're not going alone," she insists, shifting away from Jamie and getting to her feet.

"Mom!" Jamie protests, tugging her mother's shirt and jumping quickly to her feet, wide eyes terrified.

"Stay here until we come to get you, Jamie," Abby orders, smoothing her hair down with her hand. Abby looks up at Ryan, who meets her gaze.

"Let's go," she says. She and Ryan turn, and, side by side, they creep slowly up the stairs. Abby slips her hand into Ryan's, feels his fingers tighten around her wrist comfortingly.

Her fingers, the ones on her other hand, curl around the handle of the door and open it, slowly and silently. There is still no noise from above, and both of them have to check their curiosity with temperament. There is no need to rush in and get killed.

Stealthily, they step around through the kitchen, making their way to the open door of their living room. Now, the silent house is not so silent. They can hear shuffling sounds, and a voice, but the voice is low and quiet, and whatever he's saying or doing cannot be heard.

Abby sidles over to the door, and presses it open gently with the very tips of her fingers. Ryan stands off to the side, and their gazes meet. She nods curtly as the door creaks open, and Ryan nods back, his eyes dark and determined. Together, they step into the doorway, glaring at whatever's in the room.

Of course, they don't stay angry for very long, because what they see in the room both freaks them out and shoots pity through their hearts. One of the men is crouched over the other one, face screwed up and teary. His arms cradle the other man's head, which is splattered with drops of blood. Where it came from was obvious. His jacket and shirt were torn open, revealing his chest to be equally as torn up. There was a gaping hole in his chest, exposing pink and red ribs, showing the stark absence of a heart in the open chest cavity. The area around it was cut open and bleeding, too, as well as his shoulder and leg. Their wooden floor was spattered with blood, and the table, too, was scratched and bloody.

There was no point in asking if he was still alive. His green eyes were dull and glassy, and his chest (what's left of it) certainly brings home any argument to the contrary. Ryan's gaze is stony, and Abby can only imagine the look of shocked horror that must be on her own face.

"Are you okay?" she asks the other man, not knowing how to start a conversation but feeling very opposed to just letting him grieve alone.

The man looked up, meeting her gaze, eyes glassy with tears. He takes a few seconds to respond, but his arms don't move from their position under the dead man's head. "My brother, he-" is all the guy can say before emotions choke him up and he has to look away.

"You two, you saved us?" Ryan asked, his tone looking for confirmation rather a challenge. The young man nods, glancing down at the body of his brother.

"How can we _ever_ repay you?" Abby breathes. She'd say that in any case, but it feels like so much _more_ when one of them is lying dead on her floor. She didn't know how the young man had actually died, but on her property while saving her and her family? It made her feel responsible.

The man shook his head, shifting slightly closer to his brother as he did so. "There isn't much." He takes a moment, breathes, steadies his shaking fingers. "We knew this would happen."

Suddenly, the man's eyes pool over with tears again and his hand lowers, curling into a tight fist around the torn fabric of his brother's shirt. "Dammit, Dean," he whispers.

Abby and Ryan watch in silence. They both feel the need to do something, but neither of them really know what. Finally, Abby takes a few steps closer to the man and lays one hand gently on his shoulder. He tenses under her fingers, but he does not draw away, and she doesn't move a muscle.

Finally, after what feels like hours but was only seconds, the young man stands up. He looks down mournfully at his brother, then coughs lightly, looking Abby and Ryan straight in the face. It is clear that his moment of grief, for now, is over, that right now he needs to pull himself together and get out of there. "I'm not exactly strong enough to carry him alone," he explains lightly, trying remarkably hard to keep the tremor out of his voice. He mostly succeeds, but Abby can still detect it.

"I can help you," Ryan offers. Both Abby and the man can hear his slight trepidation at that idea, but the man shakes his head, declining the offer.

"That's okay. I've got a friend out, he can help me." The man's eyes turn shiny with tears again, but he blinks, hard, and they disappear. His lips form a single word, but no sound goes past them.

"Do you want me to get him for you?" Abby offers gently. She's never lost a loved one like this, but she understands how loath the man would be to leave his brother's side.

The man looks thoughtful for a moment. "Demons should be gone by now," he murmurs, and Abby almosts questions him before deciding he's had enough. _But demons? How can there be _demons_?_

The man looks up. "Yes," he says, and it takes Abby a split second to remember what she offered.

"What's your name?" she inquires. "I'm pretty sure I can't just tell him to follow me into my house, right?"

"No, no, you wouldn't." The man's tone doesn't exactly lighten, but there's something there that suggests amusement, although not enough to bring his spirits up at all. "Tell him Sam Winchester asked for him. His name's Bobby Singer, by the way."

Abby nods. "And your brother, his name is…" she knows she heard Sam mention it, but she can't remember it exactly. Something D.

"Dean," Sam offers, with a pained look in his eyes that tells Abby is he nowhere near being able to linger on the topic of his brother.

"Dean," she repeats, hopefully not loudly enough for Sam to hear. She turns away, and strides purposefully out the door, then to the hallway and out the front door of her home, looking for this Bobby Singer guy.

It doesn't take her long. As soon as she leaves the fence around her house, the corner of her eye catches sight of an old man in a baseball cap, throwing a bottle of water in her face and soaking her hair. Abby lets out a strangled cry of shock, and she staggers back a step.

"Sorry," the older man mumbles, although he doesn't sound very apologetic.

Abby's eyes narrow, but given the current situation, she can hardly blame the guy. She clears her throat, then opens her mouth to speak. "Your friend Sam wants you, he needs help with his brother." That doesn't sound too bad.

"Sam's okay?" There is a huge amount of relief in the man's voice and Abby can't help but stiffen, imagining that voice when he gets news of the other brother.

"He's okay, yeah," is all Abby can say, hoping that this guy, Bobby, can read between the lines and pick up on how _not okay_ the other guy is.

"What about Dean, is he alright?" Bobby asks. From the tone of his voice, Abby knows Bobby knew what happened, but was somehow hoping it went differently.

Abby shook her head, not able to meet the older guy's eyes, for fear of losing her own composure.

"Dammit, kid," Bobby mutters, lifting his cap to run a hand through his hair. "We knew it wouldn't work, but…" he trailed off, swallowing thickly. "Was it… was it bloody?"

Abby nodded, recalling against her will the sight of the ragged chest cavity, ripped open and exposing organs that never should have been exposed. She shudders. "He was missing his heart," she whispers, not caring that her voice is weak and horror-filled.

Bobby's head bowed, and for a brief moment, she swears she can hear muffled sobs. But the moment passes and he looks up. His eyes are a little red, but all in all, he looks more calm than Abby would have expected. "Take me inside," he orders gruffly, and Abby takes off for the open front door, knowing Bobby will follow.

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**R&R!**


End file.
